TBR
My TBR pile is something even three years of staying at home couldn’t kill. Indeed you might equate the stack of books beside my bed to a virus - it mutates but never seems to get any less aggressive.
Before I began my three year COVID hibernation, I’d accumulated a modest TBR collection. Mostly they were recently acquired novels, loaned/given me (actually, I must confirm which…) and the occasional find on the discount pile at Book City, one of Toronto’s few independent bookstore chains.
No library books? I hear some of my friends question with a tone of derision. Guilty.
I am embarrassed to say that my library use days have long been in the rearview mirror. On the farm, the Wingham Public Library was my sanctuary, supplementing my parents’ collection of classics and the racier things my sisters would leave at home with more modern literature. One summer it held a reading contest for kids. Contestants had their names on paper turtles on the wall. Those turtles moved forward on the wall with each book read. Mine moved ahead and eventually lapped some of the others who surely had TVs or took summer vacations that distracted them from the business at hand. I’m also very competitive about things where I know I have a chance.** TBR was eliminated and replenished weekly.
In recent years, my excuse for giving up library use has been my fear of bedbugs lurking the pages - those pesky things can live a long time without eating and they are apparently known to enjoy a good read themselves. Or something like that. Mostly I’ve just been too bloody lazy to go and scour the shelves.
And I’ve got this thing about owning books. Do I ever reread a book? Well, actually, no. I never do. Even when I’ve tried to, I’ve failed. Seems so pointless to cover ground I’ve been on before, even though I often have very little recollection the content. Rereading would take me away from the new books.
So there they sit, their near-pristine spines lined up like a series of windows into past versions of Celia. They’re divided into four categories - Canadian fiction, Canadian non-fiction, international fiction, and international non-fiction - and then organized in alpha order by author’s last name (of course, they are you say). Been thinking though that a more interesting order might be chronological according to reading date. OMG wouldn’t that be amazing? Let me get on that. But I digress.
TBR is organized by how interesting they look. The pile used to fit on the nightstand beside my bed. During COVID, they bled onto the floor and them found themselves haphazardly strewn on the dresser. Tidiness was less important when I was guaranteed to have no company. Online writing courses provided more and more reading recommendations - memoir but also “craft” books on writing memoir. Because I was spending on nothing else other than food, I just kept having them delivered to my door. The proliferation of little libraries in my neighbourhood hasn’t helped either.*** I regularly tour them to check for recent donations. I tried to keep up with the reading, getting through 24 during COVID according to the list I kept, but I’m ashamed of the backlog.
And I haven’t stopped!! In the last two weeks, I have accumulated two books for a food-blogging course I’m taking; another writing craft book I found when I was looking for the first two; a MAiD story I received at a fundraiser; a book of untold stories of great Canadian women for a book club I’ve joined; and Nora Ephron’s autobiography passed on from my sister.
You’d think downsizing my house would have stemmed the flow of incoming books but the thing about living alone is you get to decide on the priorities. Bookshelves are mine. My under-the-staircase bed is flanked by a wall of books - CanLit, Can nonfiction, and TBR, if you were wondering. If books are going to fall on me in the night, I want it to be Atwood, Munro and Shields.
Despite this very significant problem, I am shocked at how many nights I spend watching Netflix rather than whittling away at the pile. My mother, who for years was busy with other things and didn’t read much, is consuming books of all kinds at a rapid pace as she sits in her retirement home. So my best hope is for a long retirement with all my marbles intact. If Atwood, Munro, and Shields don’t kill me in the night first.
* TBR means To Be Read and has become how we describe the books many of us accumulate but haven’t found the time to read.
** Needless to say this was the only time I’d ever lapped anyone, being not as competitive on the track.
*** Little libraries are weather-sheltered boxes on people’s front yards for the community members to share books.
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